


Heartbeats

by Literary



Series: Rewritten [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literary/pseuds/Literary
Summary: Sometimes, late at night, he’ll wonder if he can hear the sound of a million hearts beating.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted to Fanfiction.net in September 2009. It has been re-written to better reflect my current writing ability. It was also [featured on WoWPhiles.com](http://wowphiles.com/2010/10/fanfiction-friday-heartbeats-2/) in 2010. My goal in writing this piece in 2009 was mostly to jot down an idea that started writing itself in my head while it was still fresh, but by the time the story was over I realized that what I wanted to convey with "Heartbeats" was a setting, a mood: Stormwind and what sits at the heart of it. Thank you for reading; feedback is appreciated as always.

The proud, strong stone walls of Stormwind have seen more than most other places. The loft for the gryphons overlooks the calm, cool water of the moat, and while the towers in the Mage Quarter look toward the ocean, those standing by the city gates have seen both friend and foe pass through the dense foliage of Elwynn Forest.

The streets have felt the press of feet for generations; these days, the heavy _clomp_ of a guard on patrol might belie the light, swaying steps of confused old Emma, off to find water again—water she doesn’t need, water she’s never been sent to fetch. Maybe the aged cobblestones, for want of a small reprieve, rejoice in the soft, pattering steps of one of Timmy’s kittens. They are careful, tottering, not quite ready to leave their mother but more than ready to explore the world they’ve been born into.

Some of the bigger boys treat them poorly when they find them, and that’s an understatement. Timmy can’t bear the thought of such small things ending up at the bottom of the canal, so when he finds them wandering in the streets and back alleys alone, he scoops them up and they stay warm in his tattered coat pocket until he gets home.

His father’s worn leather shoes tap against the wooden floor of their too-small home with a _schlip-schlap_ kind of sound that always makes Timmy smile because it means his father’s made it home from another long day at work. He can’t help but think of Gil’s father, sometimes, who never came back from the mine last year.

Timmy loves his father and his father loves him—but he doesn’t like the cats, or maybe it’s just that he won’t let himself like them. He shakes his head and sighs and tells his son there’s no place for animals like that.

But what about the _people_ without homes, Timmy retorts, blinking furiously.

His father only shakes his head again and tries to explain that people are different than animals, that human compassion is for humanity, not cats.

But Timmy doesn’t agree—can’t agree—because cats and humans both have beating hearts, don’t they? And if that’s the case, then they can feel pain and loneliness and hunger all in equal measure. Timmy has his mom and he has his father, but who will these cats have alone in the alley?

Timmy’s mom swoops in to smooth back her son’s hair while his father presses his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose as if afraid he might cry.

His mom is relieved that her son was born with a tender heart and a loving soul. Every night when she goes to bed she prays that the cruelty of the world will never take those qualities away from her little boy. Not everyone is so fortunate to be born so capable of caring.

* * *

 

Someday, when his kittens have grown up to become cats, Timmy will grow up to be Timothy: sturdy with a goofy smile and too-thick eyebrows. He’s smart and strong and he learns quickly, so it doesn’t take long for Timothy’s feet to take him to the Stormwind Guard. By then, Emma will have stopped leaving her home for water she doesn’t need and the stone walls of the city will be a little more worn.

But the flags of the Alliance will still wave merrily in the breezes that sweep from the ocean to the forests surrounding Stormwind, and Timothy’s kittens will still need saving. So he’ll continue to do what he’s always done, though gaining the trust of a tiny ball of fur in a full suit of armor isn’t easy.

Emma will roll over in her bed, toward the window where she can still see the colors of the city in the tatty banners that are fluttering over Timothy’s head as he strokes the head of a lonely, grey cat that will clean up to be white.

She’ll sigh and see those flags as if they’re brand new because that’s how she remembers them. The day the flags were finally finished—thanks to the Women’s Flag Committee’s hard work—and hoisted up the flagpoles still burns bright in her mind as one of her most treasured memories.

It’s been a while since she’s seen little Timmy, and Adam, and Gil, and all of the other little boys, but she’ll assume they’re still together, tossing fishing line in the canals to see if they can catch one of the crocolisks that have been fabled to live there. Emma frowns to herself in her quiet, dark home, because the legend’s been around since she was a girl, but she remembers falling in, once, when she was twelve, and she swore she saw the back-and-forth movement of a creature ten times her size far beneath her in the water. They’d never be able to lift it out of the water by themselves, but the thing she’d seen—it would have no problem dragging all three of them into the water with it.

She’ll need water but she won’t move to get it. If she sees Timmy or Adam or even one of the girls, she’ll shout for them and ask them to bring her some, but she hasn’t seen anyone in such a long time, she’s not sure how long she’ll have to wait.

Adam died years ago, out in Westfall when his uncle’s horses spooked and the wagon overturned. Nobody bothered to tell Emma.

And Timmy—well, he’s Timothy, now.

And when he gets back to the barracks after patrol, he’ll lift his tunic to let that tiny grey kitten out while his bunkmates laugh and shake their heads. They’re used to his ways by now, but they’ve never understood his reasoning behind saving the lives of cats.

 _Cats_ , they think, _cats!_ The Stormwind Guard saves lives and protects the city. They help old ladies across the street sometimes, and scold the kids for getting too close to the canals—they don’t save cats.

But Timothy will become Timmy again for just a moment as the moonlight washes over the city and the people sleep, and he’ll give a sad little smile because he’s been fortunate—or perhaps unfortunate—enough to grow  up in the city. He’ll run one of his thumbs over the soft, dirty fur of the bundle in his arms as it purrs and presses its cheek against his hand.

“Ain’t they just as much a part of this city as the rest of us?” he’ll ask, and Gil and Billy and Brandon will suddenly appear somber as they avert their eyes and begin to shine their boots.

They know he’s right.

Animals, people—they all have hearts.

And sometimes, late at night, even over the sound of a kitten lapping milk out of a small tin cup, he’ll wonder if he can hear the sound of a million hearts beating. It’s the sound of the city, and as he listens he remembers again why he tries so hard to protect Stormwind’s worn walls and cobblestone streets:

It’s home, not only for him but for so many others, too, from old Emma to the cat that has chosen to fall asleep in the crook of his arm.


End file.
